Waiting

I can’t leave my room. They’re waiting for me out there.

I saw one, once. It was tall and slender. Its arms were longer than they had any right to be. The fingertips that dangled at the ends of those arms were offensively bulbous. And its head was misshapen. It had this weird protrusion sweeping back from its forehead, like a parasaurolophus.

And it didn’t have any eyes.

My mom keeps calling me and telling me to take my medicine, that they’re not real, and she’ll do something if I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. She isn’t real anymore.

Nothing is real anymore.

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